The Middle Age of Mrs Eliot

by Angus Wilson

  Mr Purdyke was vague about the area but he said: ‘Yes. A very difficult district.’

  Meg waited for Miss Rogers to register Mr Purdyke’s vagueness; then she began to discuss the relative difficulties of the streets in Miss Rogers’ area, asking her about her particular cases as she did so. At first the girl responded shortly, then with increasing eagerness; and then suddenly she said: ‘Well, are you satisfied that I’d done my work?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Meg, ‘I am. But why do you ask?’

  ‘Because you didn’t want me to have the job.’

  ‘Really,’ said Lady Pirie, ‘I don’t think anyone should have told you that.’

  ‘Oh, my dear Viola,’ Meg laughed, ‘committees always talk You’re quite right, Miss Rogers, I didn’t. I prefer trained social workers. In principle I’m sure I’m right. Though in your case I was wrong.’

  Miss Rogers smiled rather awkwardly.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  But Meg maintained her serious, straightforward manner, ‘Oh, I’ve no doubt you can learn a lot still,’ she declared. ‘For instance refusing Mrs Tucker her gin. That seems to have been a mistake.’

  Miss Rogers was confused.

  ‘Mrs Masters agreed with me.’

  Meg suppressed a smile.

  ‘Yes,’ she said dismissing this lightly, ‘you should have gone to Mr Darlington about that, of course. But I’m more interested in your reasons. As a general rule we should never take such a thing on ourselves, should we, Viola?’

  Lady Pirie, anxious to appease, said, ‘No. But perhaps Miss Rogers had a special reason,’

  ‘Yes, exactly,’ Meg said casually, ‘that’s just what I was interested in.’

  ‘Drink’s a very dangerous thing for old people living on their own,’ Miss Rogers declared.

  Mr Purdyke seemed impressed by this answer, so she said directly to him, ‘Miss Tucker’s very lonely.’

  Meg smiled.

  ‘That after all is why Aid to the Elderly is concerned with her, Miss Rogers. But because people are lonely and old we can’t treat them like children. Not unless there’s some urgent medical reason. There’s no doctor’s report in Mrs Tucker’s case, is there, Mr Darlington?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘But if they’re doing something harmful to themselves,’ Miss Rogers said.

  ‘Oh come,’ Lady Pirie cried, ‘a drop of gin isn’t as bad as all that,’ and she chuckled. But Meg took Miss Rogers’ suggestion more seriously.

  ‘Perhaps it may be. But we’re out to help those old people to lead independent lives. The right to harm oneself a bit is surely the essence of independence. Why, one shouldn’t even interfere where people are close to one, let alone with strangers.’

  She paused for a moment; then to heighten the absurdity of the whole matter she produced an absurd example.

  ‘My husband’s an inveterate gambler. I’m sure it’s frightfully bad for him to waste his money like that. But I would no more think of refusing to telephone to his bookmaker for him if he was ill …’ She left the absurdity in mid-air and then turned quietly to drawing the general conclusion.

  ‘That really is the value of this training business I’m so keen on. It gives you at least a few basic rules in a job where, in the main, you’re thrown back on personal decision all the time. Don’t you agree, Mr Purdyke?’

  ‘Oh, indeed,’ Mr Purdyke said. He could hardly say less with Mr Darlington, all trained, sitting there; but he added, ‘I think Miss Rogers was trying to use her initiative.’

  Meg carefully mistook his intention.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but you’ll know better next time, won’t you, Miss Rogers? You’ll go to Mr Darlington if there’s any query. But you’re obviously cut out for this work.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I wish,’ she said, ‘you could take a social service course. Apart from this job, qualifications are so important in the modern world.’

  ‘There is an evening course – a shortened one,’ Mr Darlington began and Lady Pirie grunted to show that she was not out of touch.

  ‘Why, that’s a good idea, Viola,’ Meg said, ‘but do you think, Miss Rogers, you could do evening work as well as this? Lady Pirie suggests …’

  The girl’s heavy body sagged a little.

  ‘I don’t know that I could afford the fees at the moment, to be honest.’

  ‘Oh! I think the committee could do something about that,’ Meg cried, ‘surely. Unfortunately I shan’t be here but you’ll make it clear to the rest of them that it has my support, Viola, won’t you? We haven’t got Mr Purdyke’s view yet, though.’

  Mr Purdyke hastened to agree with Lady Pirie. Meg only just checked herself from saying something about Mrs Masters’ undoubted support of the idea. Mr Darlington would like the joke, but such jokes often proved too costly pleasures. Miss Rogers’ thanks she deflected on to Lady Pirie.

  She could not avoid a small sigh of relief as the girl left the room. It’s the thought of all that lumpy underwear that revolts me so, she decided.

  *

  As soon as Miss Rogers had gone, Mr Purdyke also took his leave. He found the meeting an increasing strain since Mr Darlington had introduced these little red American cloth chairs with metal legs, but he had to admit that the dirty cream distempered offices of the Society did need a note of brightness,

  Mr Darlington, who hated disorder, would normally have escaped to his private office, leaving the slopped tea cups and overflowing ashtrays to tomorrow’s cleaners. He wanted still more, however, to continue talking to Meg Eliot, and so he stayed, perched on the edge of the table and sucking at his empty pipe.

  ‘If I may say so, Mrs Eliot,’ he said, ‘you handled that beautifully.’

  Meg Eliot’s dark eyes glittered, ‘I hope I wasn’t too fierce with the poor thing,’ she said and by not waiting for his answer showed that her fears were a formality. ‘But really,’ she went on, and her tone became fierce and earnest, ‘I can’t let that moral bullying pass uncriticized. The paid social workers are here to administer the society’s funds for the benefit of the old people. It’s nothing to do with her whether old Mrs T. chooses to spend the little she gets on gin so long as the old creature doesn’t let herself go downhill. It’s her job to relieve the poor old thing’s loneliness, not to moralize about the results of it. We’re not a temperance society. I’m more and more convinced that we can’t afford untrained people. It’s a false economy. Indeed it would be a very good thing if the committee had to attend the course, though I’m sure very few of us would get our certificates or what have you.’

  ‘Well, Meg dear, when you get back from your junketing in the East, you must enrol.’ Lady Pirie checked Meg Eliot’s enthusiasm by a dry mother-to-daughter manner, ‘I’ll suggest it to the committee while you’re away.’

  ‘I’ll volunteer gladly if you will, Viola.’Meg winked at Mr Darlington.

  ‘Splendid,’ he said, ‘now we’re getting somewhere.’

  ‘We all ought to be getting on with our work,’ Lady Pirie said. ‘I’ve got to feed a hungry son, Meg. I don’t have Italians to do my housekeeping. And I’ve no doubt Mr Darlington’s got plenty to do as well.’

  ‘It’s nice for Mr Darlington to do nothing for a change, I think.’ Meg announced it simply as a fact.

  Lady Pirie said, ‘He’d probably like to choose his own place and time for that. Missing trains because of a lot of women’s gossip …’

  Meg, laughing, interrupted, ‘A lot of women’s gossip perhaps, Viola, but not mine. You’d miss a train for me, wouldn’t you, Mr Darlington?’

  ‘I’ve plenty of trains, Mrs Eliot …’ he began, but Lady Pirie said, ‘You may have, but I’ve got a lot of shopping to do and I’m relying on Mrs Eliot for a lift. Besides, she has a long and tiring journey ahead of her. I know you’re an experienced traveller, Meg, but you don’t fly about to the East and Australia every day. You’re going to need all your energies. What on earth you’re giving this party this evening for, I can�
��t think.’

  ‘We thought our old friends would like to say good-bye to us.’ Meg assumed a mock pained expression, but Lady Pirie would not be teased.

  ‘Good-byes,’ she said. ‘A lot of fudge.’

  She sounded so cross that Mr Darlington, professionally conditioned to compose quarrels, called all his tact to the aid of the situation.

  ‘We shall miss you very much, Mrs Eliot. A lot can happen in six months. There’s this business of Mrs Chorley, for instance. I don’t know what you think, but Aid to the Elderly’s never contributed before where there’s a rich family in the background.’

  Meg Eliot shifted squarely in her seat. She seemed to mark the change to a more serious topic by her new posture.

  ‘If she really wants to remain independent of her family then I think we must consider her eligible for help. But there can’t be any of this preferential treatment for distressed gentlewomen if that’s what she’s after.’

  ‘I think she’s difficult,’ Mr Darlington began.

  Lady Pirie laid her huge bucket bag heavily down on the table.

  ‘Mr Darlington,’ she said, ‘this is all coming up at the next committee meeting. It’s quite improper to discuss it now. In the first place Mrs Eliot won’t be here, so I’m afraid her opinions aren’t going to help us. In the second place you know very well that many members of the committee have strong views on the subject. The secretary’s job is to advise the committee, not to try to make up their minds for them.’

  The rather sour smile with which she accompanied her rebuke was so patently the formal softening of an order to a subordinate that it only added to Mr Darlington’s embarrassment. He seemed to look to Mrs Eliot for support, but such as she gave was indirect. Getting up from her seat, she held out her hand to him.

  ‘Good-bye,’ she said, ‘I look to you to keep the flag of good sense flying here every month while I’m away.’

  ‘Good-bye,’ Mr Darlington answered. ‘Six months seems a very long time.’ Perhaps he remembered that he had said something very like this before, for he blushed as he had not done at Lady Pirie’s rudeness. ‘I hope you have a very good holiday indeed,’ he added quickly.

  ‘I expect I shall.’ Meg’s tone was casual. ‘Malaya will be rather ghastly, I’m afraid, apparently we shall just hit the rainy season. But the company’s paying Bill such an enormous fee to defend the case that we can’t possibly refuse. Without it we couldn’t afford the rest of the trip. And I am looking forward to Australia and the Pacific. Although I must say I have such a wonderful life anyway that I’m not as excited as I ought to be at the prospect of change.’

  Clearly Lady Pirie felt the impropriety of this remark to Mr Darlington, but she only underlined it.

  ‘We’re not all rolling in money like you, Meg,’ she announced.

  Meg Eliot suggested the vulgarity she felt in the rebuke by slightly protruding the lower lip of her large sensual mouth.

  ‘Oh, Bill and I don’t roll,’ she said. ‘Far from it. No, I think the phrase for us is “spend as we get it”. But if you mean should I like to be poor, the answer is no. I should loathe it.’

  She smiled, even giggled at Mr Darlington. To Lady Pirie’s evident annoyance he giggled with evident pleasure in return. He opened the door for them and watched them pass down the long stone corridor of the office building. He had hardly turned back into the disordered committee room, however, when Meg Eliot’s head appeared round the door.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of her moods,’ she said. ‘She’s always like that when she’s got her Widow Twankey hat on.’ She saw him laugh and was off again, delighted to have done the right thing.

  Meg’s pleasure at the good relationship she had made with Mr Darlington swelled into a vague general sense of well-being with the world as she ran down the broad stairs. The quick, light clicking of her high heels against the stone echoed gaily through the building, seeming indeed an echo of her light, gay, easy relationship with all the many different kinds of people she touched upon in her busy life. She was struck by her self-satisfaction and wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, and yet her ever ready self-mockery only made her more content. This she acknowledged by permitting the laughter.

  Pushing open the heavy door by its iron bar she came out into the drabness of Uxbridge Road, glaringly dusty in the bright August sunshine. She imagined herself, tall and graceful, as exotic as a flamingo against the dirty yellow London brick houses and the smut-coated privet hedges. But not exotic really, or rather no stranger here than anywhere else with her ‘interesting’ irregular shaped face, large brown eyes, and thick, greying straw-yellow hair. At once ‘outside’ and ‘at home’ anywhere. Laughing at her vanity, she crossed the road to where Viola Pirie was dressing down a group of children who were playing around the Humber.

  ‘You children have got to realize,’ she was saying, ‘that you must not touch what doesn’t belong to you. You’ve got plenty of things of your own nowadays. How would you like it if I came into your house and scratched your precious tele?’

  Meg smiled, for the children’s politeness and their awe of what was peculiar were clearly hardly sufficient to keep them from laughing in Viola’s face.

  ‘If you brats have written anything on my car!’ she cried, still laughing. She surveyed the black surface rapidly. ‘Not even a bad word,’ she said and gave the tallest girl sixpence.

  As she manoeuvred the Humber through the crowded traffic of Shepherd’s Bush, she set herself to mollify Viola Pirie who was making bulldog snorts beside her.

  ‘It’s the fault of these cars,’ Meg said, ‘they have such huge, squat, shiny behinds that it’s a constant temptation to write bad words on them. I feel it myself sometimes.’

  But Lady Pirie seemed determined to be stern. She said nothing for some minutes, then. ‘You trade on my being so fond of you, Meg. It really isn’t good enough, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, Viola, a few street children!’

  ‘You know I’m not talking about the children. You’re going well on the way to ruining a very good secretary in Mr Darlington. And he won’t be the first.’

  ‘Really, Viola. I don’t think you’ve any right to imply such things. And Mr Darlington a respectable married man.’ Meg spoke in imitated cockney. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘I don’t seem to fancy gentlemen who smoke pipes.’

  ‘No, Meg,’ Lady Pirie said, ‘I’m not going to laugh whatever Mr Darlington may do. You owe the committee some loyalty. And don’t try to look serious when I say that, because you don’t feel it.’

  ‘Well, you were so awful to the poor man. I had to go back and say something. And you always are in a temper for some reason when you’re wearing that Widow Twankey hat. It’s psychosomatic.’

  ‘So you didn’t leave anything behind. Really!’ Lady Pine’s square, grey face set in shocked maternal lines, then she saw reflected in the windscreen for a moment the green quills bobbing up and down above her russet felt cap.

  ‘It is rather awful, isn’t it?’ she said, ‘but I always get so fussed in shops.’

  She laughed heartily on a deep, cracked note. She was silent, then at the traffic lights when they started again, she said: ‘You’re free to laugh at me as much as you like. You know that. But do you think it’s fair to that man to undermine his respect for the committee?’

  Meg controlled her rising annoyance, trying deliberately to remember that Viola’s lecturing manner was a direct measure of her affection.

  ‘And you’re the person who’s always fussing about the importance of a sense of humour for social work,’ she said. ‘The number of times that I’ve heard you ask those wretched applicants for home visiting jobs whether they can see a joke! Well, Mr Darlington can, and that’s why I like him.’

  ‘You like him to see your jokes,’ Lady Pirie said gruffly. ‘You don’t consider that his job depends on getting on with the rest of the committee.’

  Meg accelerated to pass two other cars, leaving barely sufficient time to av
oid the oncoming traffic. The driver of one car hooted at her and she hooted back.

  ‘I know what I’m doing,’ she called out. In fact, she was trying to deflect her anger from Viola Pirie. Even so when she spoke it was in a drawling voice intended to provoke.

  ‘Oh, I think Darlington’s capable of fussing the committee when it’s required.’

  Lady Pirie seemed absorbed in the flower barrows at Notting Hill Gate.

  ‘He understands us all much better than you think.’

  Lady Pirie turned and looked at her. ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘He understands even less about the sort of people we are than I had thought. Look at this afternoon! The way he rushed in with his uncalled for tact when you and I had got a little sharp with each other. The cheek of it! Anyone even a little sensitive would know that when people are such old friends as you and I are …’ Her voice tailed away. Her grey, wrinkled neck had turned pink. ‘People like that have no shades of behaviour. For them a quarrel’s a quarrel.’

  Ordinarily Meg would have reacted strongly to ‘people like that’, but now she was aware only of compassion for Viola’s loneliness; and as an older, more familiar pity, it clouded and obscured her feelings for Mr Darlington’s dismal daily round.

  She sought for an expression that was part of her regular communication with Viola Pirie. ‘Oh, dear God!’ she said – an oath that Viola always found peculiarly absurd and endearing when Meg used it – ‘Dear God! I’m not proposing a friendship with him, Viola. I think he’s frightfully efficient at the job. I agree with most of his ideas about the work, even though like all those trained people he’s a bit solemn and absurd about it at times. And I like to protect him from all you old reactionaries on the committee. That’s all.’

  Lady Pirie even smiled a little now.

  ‘Oh, he’s excellent,’ she said, ‘and a nice person too. But he needs a bit of criticism to sharpen his wits on. So much of the work is routine.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Meg, ‘and imagine how dreary his home life must be. He lives in North London, he told me. Merton or somewhere.’